


Want You to Watch Me

by snaeken



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Dancing, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28883163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snaeken/pseuds/snaeken
Summary: When Corey goes to Sinema the week after Lucas moves away, he doesn't expect Brett Talbot to strike up a conversation with him. He doesn't expect what follows, either.
Relationships: Corey Bryant/Brett Talbot
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	Want You to Watch Me

**Author's Note:**

> Like most of my unpublished WIPs, this was started (and abandoned when I got stuck) in 2018. I got unstuck, and a further 8000 words later, here we are.

It’s been six days since he and Lucas broke up, and Corey can’t help but feel like he should feel _more._

They only dated for two months, it’s not like it was enough time for him to actually fall in love; for him to feel like all the stars had aligned and like all the shit that goes on in his life actually isn’t that bad, because he had Lucas. He never felt like that and, if he’s being honest, Lucas probably didn’t either.

It started with a group project in English. They got paired together and that was it, they just clicked. It was his first grade above a C in longer than he’d care to admit, and he still doesn’t know how they managed it between the smiling and the kissing and the other stuff.

It was all going pretty well, until Lucas’s mom got a new job on the other side of the country. They moved away last week, and that was pretty much that.

Lucas had kind of half-heartedly suggested trying long distance. It was to appease him more than anything, he knows; to try and reduce the blow that he was going to be alone again when Lucas left. It’s nothing he isn’t used to, being alone. Still, he’s going to miss the smiling and the kissing and the other stuff, and having somewhere to go after school other than his own house.

Their texts have already started fizzling out - which isn’t a surprise, he needs to remind himself; Lucas is in a new house and at a new school and he needs time to adjust - but at the end of the day, it looks like neither of them were invested enough to try and make it work. Maybe it’s better it happened now, sparing one or both of them from heartbreak down the line. It’s not like either of them were in love. It’s not like they even knew each other all that well, not after two months.

Corey opens his phone and stares at his screensaver again, the last selfie he and Lucas took together. It’s nothing remarkable, just Corey smiling into the camera as Lucas kisses his cheek. He should feel more, looking at it; happiness at the memory, or sadness that it’s gone, or maybe something else entirely, he isn’t sure what. But he should feel something other than indifference.

So now it’s Friday night, and he’s alone again with nothing to do until he goes back to school on Monday. What did he even _do_ , before he and Lucas got together? He passed the time somehow between his two jobs and his half-assed attempts at homework. It’s not like he spent the time hanging out with friends or anything. Sure, he hung out with Lucas’s friends occasionally, but they’re not _his_ friends. That’s pretty fairly evidenced by the awkward smiles in hallways and the fact he spends his lunchbreaks alone again.

There’s always Sinema, he guesses. It’s all ages night and really, why break the habit when he’s been going every week for the past two months, Lucas dragging him there to dance and make out - and, once or twice, do other stuff - in front of strangers and not-strangers? It’s not like he’s got anything better planned.

He parks a block away from the club - he didn’t ask to borrow the car, but it’s not like either of his parents are in a fit state to be driving right now anyway -, pays his entry fee at the door, and gets his hand stamped and an underage band tied to his wrist. The music is loud, the bass thumping through his feet familiar and, strangely, almost comforting as he walks to the bar. He settles himself down in a stool and waits for the bartender to notice him, ordering a coke and giving her a tip because it’s apparently courteous. How do people even learn all these unspoken rules? He gets a pretty big smile out of her though so he considers it a win. He’s also pretty sure they go to school together, which makes her way too young to be working here, but still. Clearly Corey’s not the only one doing what he needs to do around here.

Swivelling round to face the crowd, he slouches down a little down into his stool and takes a sip from the straw in his drink. Unless he goes to the toilet, he kind of figures this is where he’s going to be for the rest of the night. It only marginally bothers him, the concept of being in a crowded club full of people having fun with their friends, while it’s likely that the bartender is the only person he’s going to talk to tonight; her name definitely starts with H, but it’s eluding him.

The thought of getting up and dancing without Lucas is a little weird, and not something he’s entirely comfortable with. At least if you’re with someone, you can pretend they’re the only one paying any attention to you. It’s easier to shut off your internal critic when you’ve got someone grinding against you; easier to stop assuming people are judging you, that when people laugh they’re not laughing at you. He’s just always been better suited as a wallflower than being in the thick of things. Still, it would be nice to have the sort of personality that just lets him go out there and not care what people might think of him; the type of personality that so many of the people here seem to have.

Like Garrett, Liam and Mason, for example.

Corey’s pretty sure they’ve got a poly thing going on, though he’s never asked anyone to confirm or deny this - which, like, it’s difficult enough to find one person who’s interested in you, how do you find _two?_ \- and the best part about it is that nobody really seems to care. Garrett and Liam are making out pretty heatedly, Garrett rubbing a leg up between Liam’s thighs in slow circles. Mason also has his lips attached to Liam’s neck, one of his hands at the back of Liam’s head and the other up Garrett’s shirt, almost definitely tweaking one of his nipples. They’re borderline fucking in the middle of the club and it might just be the hottest thing he’s seen in his life.

“They’re a delight to watch, aren’t they?” a voice says from his other side. Corey turns to find Brett Talbot, of all people, leaning back against the bar on his elbows while he watches them.

“It’s hot,” Corey agrees, because he has _eyes_ and really, why bother denying it? “Stupid hot.”

“For sure. So where’s your boyfriend tonight?” Brett asks without looking at him, signalling the bartender over. Of course she notices him right away, so Corey stays quiet while Brett orders his drink. “Thanks Hayden,” he smiles at her, and right, Hayden Romero.

He’s kind of surprised Brett even knows who he is, to be honest. He’s not trying to put the guy up on a pedestal or idolise him but he knows what Brett looks like, _Brett_ knows what Brett looks like, and everyone that has ever come to this club knows what Brett looks like. And he’s always seemed too busy dancing or making out with people to take any notice of a guy like Corey.

It’s only when he feels like he’s being watched that he realises he hasn’t answered Brett yet. He glances over to find Brett quirking an eyebrow at him while he sucks through his straw.

“He moved away. We broke up.”

“Oh. Sucks,” he says, and that seems to be the end of it. It’s refreshing, Corey thinks, for someone to react like that. It’s so much better than being pitied. The other day Mr Yukimura asked him if he wanted to _talk_ , which. Jesus, no thanks. Like, Lucas didn’t _die_ , he just moved away and it’s shitty.

Corey nods to Garrett, Liam and Mason. “Have they got a poly thing going on?” Mason has moved to Garrett’s back now, and Garrett has his head tipped back against Mason’s neck, mouth hanging open. Whatever Liam and Mason are doing to him, it must feel pretty good; Corey genuinely doesn’t know how nobody has kicked them out yet.

“Yeah. A pretty exclusive poly thing, unfortunately,” Brett sighs. “I tried to get in on it once but they knocked me back.”

“Oh. Sucks,” he says, which pulls a pretty satisfying laugh and a smile out of Brett.

This time he _really_ expects that to be the end of it, for Brett to go back to his regularly scheduled activities and leave Corey to people-watch for the rest of the night in peace. It doesn’t seem like Brett plans to go anywhere, though.

“Those were some nice saves you made against me last game, by the way.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Corey says. It’s always a bit intimidating, seeing Brett running towards you on the lacrosse field; on top of his looks and his charm, he’s easily Devenford Prep’s star player. “I think a bit of luck was involved, though.”

“You do?” Brett leans in close. “I don’t think so. You see,” he says, Corey trying to resist shuddering at the puff of Brett’s breath against the shell of his ear, “people only get lucky _with_ me, not _against_ me. Understand?”

Corey swallows, nods. He feels Brett’s mouth stretch into a smile against his ear, and he’s half a second away from tilting his head, letting Brett trail his mouth down the side of his neck, before Brett pulls back first.

“How many goals have you let in this season?”

“What. Um.” He spends a moment examining Brett’s face, trying to decide if that was an innuendo, but he actually looks serious. Corey shoves his straw into his mouth, inhaling to buy himself some time while he tries to do some mental arithmetic. “Probably somewhere between twenty and thirty? I haven’t really kept count though.”

“For the whole season so far?” Brett quirks another eyebrow at him; Corey nods. “Do you realise how good that is? I didn’t say this, but I’d trade you for our goalie any day.”

“Thanks,” Corey smiles, really meaning it this time. His cheeks are even heating up a little which is so dumb, but hopefully Brett can’t see it under the club lighting.

“You have a nice smile.” Brett claps him on the shoulder and Corey feels his smile widen a little more. “I’m gonna go dance, if you…?”

“Not tonight,” he says, sure even as he’s saying it that it’s the wrong decision. Even though talking to Brett has definitely lifted his spirits, he’s not really in the mood for dancing. “Thanks though.”

“No worries,” Brett smiles. “You’re cute, dude. Own it.”

With that, Brett heads off into the middle of the dancefloor. Corey orders another drink from Hayden and spends more time than he cares to admit trying to work out if Brett was hitting on him.

***

The next week goes by almost painfully slowly. Paying attention in class is as difficult as ever, his thoughts too occupied with abs and smirks and whispered flirtations in his ear. He wouldn’t exactly say he’s enjoyed going to Sinema since the first few times he and Lucas went together, but there’s something exciting about the thought of seeing Brett again. They haven’t had any lacrosse games together this week and Brett goes to a different school, so it’s not as if they could just bump into each other.

Of course there’s the voice in his head telling him Brett isn’t actually interested, that he won’t even give Corey a second glance tonight, and he thinks he’s mostly okay with that. He can get a drink, he can dance if he feels like it, and if things go well he can maybe even kiss a boy. At the very least, it’ll be time out of the house.

But _what if?_

What if Brett wasn’t just flirting because that’s what Brett does? What if he actually meant it when he called Corey cute, and wasn’t just being nice?

What if?

Even though the club has been open for over an hour, there’s still a decent line outside when Corey arrives.

His parents weren’t home when Corey got back after school, and neither was the car. No doubt neither of them are in a fit state to be driving it anyway right now, and one of these days they’re going to get caught and all three of them will be fucked, but that’ll have to be tomorrow’s, or Sunday’s, - or hell, next Wednesday’s - problem, whenever they decide to come home again.

The line is full of people clumped together in groups of kids excited to be done with school for the week, to be hanging out with their friends in a place they’re technically too young to be going to. There aren’t many people that appear to be waiting in line alone, like he is. He fidgets with his phone for something to do as the line slowly moves forward; to pretend he’s texting someone or whatever, he’s not sure.

He opens his messages with Lucas, checking for messages out of habit even though he knows there’s nothing new to see. They’ve only texted once this week, a short conversation that fizzled out after a few minutes and didn’t get picked back up again. It’s to be expected. He’s still not as upset about it as he thinks he’s supposed to be.

Moments after he finally gets inside, he spots Brett lounging with his elbows against the bar, a mirror image of last week. A slow smile appears on Brett’s face as they make eye contact, Brett standing to his full height as Corey approaches. It’s a bit of a battle to keep his own returning smile reasonable, despite how much of a relief it apparently is to see Brett again; it’s like a weight he hadn’t truly realised he was carrying has been lifted off of him.

“I was starting to wonder if you were going to show.”

“What, you thought I’d ditched you?” Corey laughs, more out of disbelief than anything, but Brett just shrugs.

“Stranger things have happened.” He flicks his hand in a gesture that gets Hayden’s attention immediately. Corey still doesn’t know how Brett does it; he doesn’t know if he’d be brazen enough to try it himself, if it would even work or if he’d just look like an idiot. “Same again, please. Coke for you?”

Corey nods. “Thanks.” He reaches into his pocket but a large, warm hand on his wrist stills him.

“I’ve got this.”

“Oh. Then thanks again,” he smiles, thanking Hayden as well when she hands over their drinks. “Sorry for making you wait, by the way. I had to walk tonight and the line was pretty long by the time I got here.”

“No worries, glad you could make it. How’s your week been?”

“Scraped through a math and history test by the skin of my teeth, barely avoided throwing up at practice yesterday, the usual,” he shrugs, immediately wishing he could take it back, or that he had something more interesting or more positive to say. It’s hardly the impression he wants to make to someone like Brett, especially the puke comment.

“Ouch,” Brett winces. “Coach Finstock driving you guys that hard?”

“I think he enjoys making us suffer more than he likes lacrosse.”

“There _is_ something a little unhinged about him…” Brett muses. “Speaking of lacrosse, Liam told me something interesting the other day.”

“Yeah?” Corey reflexively scans the dancefloor for him and Garrett and Mason, but doesn’t see any of them. Maybe they really did get banned. “What’d he say?”

“That you don’t hang out with your team.”

There’s no judgement in Brett’s tone, but that doesn’t stop the club from suddenly feeling a little too hot, a little too closed-in. Corey takes a gulp of his drink to try and cool off, even though the physical temperature in the club isn’t the issue right now. He swallows, looking up at Brett.

“I work two jobs. I don’t always have free time to-”

“At school, too, he said.”

Corey averts his eyes. “I’m just a goalie. They probably don’t want me around.”

“Has anyone actually said that?”

“...No.”

“Exactly. Could they be backing off because that’s what they think _you_ want?”

“What? No, that’s not-- I didn’t… Shit,” he deflates. Brett is totally right. He _does_ blow them off, seem unapproachable. The only reason he sits alone at lunch is because he chooses to. But would they even _want_ him now, if he tried joining them?

“In my experience, team’s team. And there’s more to team than just the practices and the games,” Brett says. Corey looks up when he feels Brett’s hand on his shoulder. “You should give them a chance. They might surprise you, if you let them.”

Corey keeps his expression neutral as he sighs, closed-mouthed; he can’t hear it, but he feels the reverberations in his chest. “Maybe they will.”

He scans the club while he finishes his drink, mulling over their conversation, looking for Liam to no avail. When would Brett and Liam have spoken? It doesn’t look like he’s here tonight, and their teams didn’t have a match against each other this week. Did they call, or text? Was Brett _asking_ about him?

He chances a glance at Brett out of the corner of his eye; even though Brett’s also gazing out at the club, strangely enough it still feels like he’s paying attention to Corey.

Placing his empty glass down on the bar - Corey didn’t even notice him drinking it - Brett turns to face him fully. “In the mood for dancing tonight?”

Even if Corey wasn’t susceptible to a quirked eyebrow and a nice smile, he really was hoping he would get to dance with Brett tonight.

“Lead the way,” he says, letting Brett lead him by the hand out onto the dancefloor. Squeezing through the fray and avoiding getting hit by any stray limbs, they find a decent enough space to slot themselves into. Brett tilts his head up, closing his eyes at just the right moment as the strobe lights wash over his face. Smiling, Corey’s hands find their way to Brett’s hips as the beat pulses through them. It’s a little different, the way Brett is both taller and broader than Lucas, but he doesn’t mind at all. Brett doesn’t seem to mind either, the way he smiles down at Corey, shifting a little closer so their chests are almost brushing. They could probably still get a little closer, truth be told. And Corey knows exactly how to do it.

When he reaches up and places a hand on the back of Brett’s neck and in his hair, Brett’s eyes go hooded. Understanding exactly what he wants - and more importantly, just as willing to give it -, Brett lets Corey guide his head down into a kiss.

Again it’s different, the way his lips are plumper than Lucas’s, the way he immediately tries to press his tongue into Corey’s mouth, lime and desire melding onto his own tongue when he parts his lips wider. The change isn’t unwelcome at all, especially when Brett’s large, strong hands squeeze his ass. He _knows_ Brett hears - or at least feels - him moan, the way he briefly smiles into Corey’s mouth.

“You like that?” Brett breathes against his ear. Corey turns his head to nip at Brett’s jaw.

“I like a lot of things.”

“I bet you do.” Just for a moment, one of Brett’s hands ghosts across his crotch, light enough that he only registers the touch when Brett’s hand has already found its way back to his ass. Even though it was barely anything at all, it’s enough to make him a little harder in his jeans. “You and your boyfriend ever get up to anything naughty in here?”

After debating his answer for a handful of seconds, moving to the beat with Brett, Corey figures he has nothing to lose. Even so, his cheeks heat up a little as he says, “We sucked each other off in the toilets before, it was kinda hot. And kinda gross, actually.”

“I’ll bet,” Brett laughs, though he doesn’t specify what part he means. Maybe both. “If you’re careful, there’s plenty of other places around here you can do stuff.”

It’s a loaded statement; Brett wants him to ask, and Corey wants to ask. It would be rude not to, really.

“Like where?”

“A dark corner here, a dark corner there.” He jerks his head in a few directions and Corey follows, spotting the corners in question; he’s pretty sure he can see a silhouette in one of them, but from over here he can’t tell who it might be or who they’re with. “The toilets, like you mentioned. I usually avoid them where I can, though.”

Looking up from under his lashes, Corey slowly, deliberately, drags one of his hands from Brett’s hip over his crotch. “And where’s your favourite place?” he asks, punctuating it with a long and none-too-gentle squeeze of Brett’s cock. Even through his jeans, Corey feels Brett stiffen up more beneath his hand; the way Brett’s looking at him is sinful, full of lust and promise.

Corey’s not quite expecting it when Brett surges down to lick back into his mouth, but he has his lips parted in no time, squeezing Brett through his jeans all the while.

“My car. Less chance of interruption. Unless,” Brett says questioningly, teasing his fingers beneath the waistband of Corey’s jeans, “you’re into that?”

There was always a bit of a thrill to it, he and Lucas touching each other on the dancefloor the way he and Brett are touching each other right now. It might even be a bit _more_ of a thrill, the concept of people seeing him with Brett; seeing that Brett _chose_ him. But.

“I think I’d like to see your car.”

Brett grins, leading him off the dancefloor by the hand. It’s not a surprise, the way the crowd seems to part for Brett or the way some heads seem to turn. For once, Corey’s sure he not only feels, but looks confident, relishing the way some of the eyes following Brett slide to him, the way they probably know what’s about to happen.

After the heat of the club, the cool evening air outside is a bit of a shock to the system, and Corey hasn’t even been drinking. Even sober, that strange feeling of unreality after leaving a club or party washes over him, like he hasn’t rejoined the world at large yet.

They don’t talk while they walk; the time for talking is over, at least for the moment. Corey’s still hard in his jeans, his cock brushing against them with every step, the friction and anticipation sending him ever so slightly higher. It’s also a little exciting, the way he’s so flagrantly walking about with an erection. Normally he would be embarrassed or try to hide it, but there aren’t really too many people out on the streets at the moment, mostly just some smokers and vapers outside Sinema’s door.

Brett starts to slow up before they’ve even reached the end of the street, dipping his free hand into his pocket to pull out his keys. As he presses the button, a car up ahead of them lights up as it unlocks.

It’s not the fanciest car Corey’s ever seen; in fact, it’s barely an upgrade from his own family’s car. For some reason he was expecting a souped up sports car, big and flashy to match Brett’s personality. The notion is a little ridiculous for a few reasons, not least of which being that although Brett attends a private school - and Corey has no idea what money his family might have -, Brett is still a _teenager_.

Brett quickly scans the area around them before opening one of the back doors and climbing inside, adjusting the driver’s seat and passenger seat to push them as far forward as they’ll go before ushering Corey inside after him.

As he clambers in and pulls the door shut behind him, squeezing into the - admittedly slightly cramped - space, Corey grins at Brett and looks around the interior. The seats are leather, so at least they’ll be easy to clean if anyone happens to make a mess. There are various bottles of energy drinks littered around Brett’s car, all of them opened but none of them finished. Not the strangest thing he’s ever seen, but still.

“Nice car,” he says, making sure Brett knows he actually means it. “You uh, come here often?”

Brett’s lips curl up a little like he’s trying not to laugh. Which, fair. He probably deserves to be laughed at after that awful line.

“I mean, it’s my car, so yes. I _come here often,_ ” A sharp smile spreads across Brett’s face. “Whatever way you meant it.”

And that’s… an image. An image he’s going to get to see. An image he’s going to get to _create_.

It doesn’t take long for Corey to tug his shirt off over his head, after that, dropping it on the driver’s seat so he can find it again easily. Not exactly his most graceful move, with the awkward angles he had to bend his arms at, but as good as can be expected inside the car.

He knows he has a decent body, could even almost say he takes some pride in it; he might predominantly play in goal, but he still needs to keep in shape. It’s still pretty satisfying though, the appreciation on Brett’s face as his eyes scan Corey’s torso. Especially when he knows what Brett looks like underneath his own shirt.

Brett’s gaze fixes on Corey’s stomach. “What’s this?” he asks, brushing the pad of his thumb across the full length of the long, white scar there.

“Liver transplant,” he says, trying not to squirm under Brett’s touch. “I was pretty sick, when I was a kid.”

“You’re good now though, yeah?”

“Yeah, all good,” he smiles. “I still need to take anti-rejection meds everyday, though. It’s part of the reason why I don’t drink very often. I _can_ , sometimes it’s just easier not to.”

It’s not exactly the truth, whole truth and nothing but the truth, but Brett hardly needs to know the ins and outs of Corey’s complicated relationship with addictive and illicit substances.

Brett hums before flicking his gaze back up. “Well, I’m glad you’re better now,” he smiles, brushing his thumb across the scar again. Corey doesn’t manage to withhold his shudder this time, and Brett takes the moment of distraction to pull him down and lick into his mouth again. It would be very, very easy to start getting used to this.

In his quest to try and not bear his entire body weight down on Brett, he feels around for a space on the seat to brace his hand, one of Brett’s own hands having become a hot brand against Corey’s ribcage. He finds a free spot next to Brett’s hip and in doing so feels the hem of Brett’s shirt, which reminds him Brett is still fully clothed. Frankly, it’s unacceptable.

He hooks his fingers into the hem and tugs, hoping Brett gets the message; either of them breaking the kiss for anything more than a rapidly inhaled half-breath feels like too long at the moment. Thankfully Brett gets the message, shifting around beneath Corey to tug his shirt up a little, breathing a soft moan into Corey’s mouth as their crotches brush together in the process. The softness of it is intriguing enough that Corey drops his weight to grind down against Brett, needing to pull more sound out of him, something louder, something harsher.

It works.

Brett breaks the kiss on a full, throaty moan, letting his head fall back against the window as Corey feels him lift his hips a little, trying to deepen the friction, intensify it. Corey looses his own moan against Brett’s shoulder, rutting harder and panting a little when Brett’s hand finds his ass, squeezing and pushing him down against Brett simultaneously.

“Brett,” he gasps; if they keep this up much longer, he’s going to make a mess in his jeans. Even so, neither of them stop grinding, and Brett doesn’t let up his grip.

It’s a struggle not to let go completely, to give in to his pleasure and chase it over the edge. Glancing up, he finds Brett with his eyes closed, teeth sunk into his bottom lip. He’s stupidly pretty in a way that shouldn’t even be possible, yet here he is right beneath Corey, apparently determined to get them both off before they’re even properly undressed. It steels his own resolve to hold on, even as heat pools in his lower gut. It was alright, making a mess of himself at the start with Lucas; he’s not doing it in front of Brett.

Thankfully Brett chooses that moment to let up his grip on Corey’s ass, but Corey still ruts against him a couple more times before pulling up himself, mouthing against Brett’s neck.

Brett sighs, tilting his head. “I could’ve cum just like that,” he admits.

“Me too,” Corey says, blowing cold air against the wetness on Brett’s neck to make him shudder. It works, and he’s about to do it again before Brett’s hands find his hips and push him up. Brett sits up some, too, tugging his shirt the rest of the way over his head, and Corey settles himself onto the seat when there’s a decent enough space. Both of them are breathing a little heavily and there’s a dusting of pink across Brett’s cheeks; his own face is probably worse. Still, he smiles at Brett, getting a smile back.

“Boundaries,” Brett says. “Anything a hard no?”

Corey thinks for a moment, but only one incident with Lucas comes to mind. “Uh, blindfolds. But I figure that’s not relevant right now. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something.” Brett nods, satisfied. “How about you?”

“Most stuff is fair game. Try not to leave too many marks though. Not where people can see, anyway.”

Corey nods, though he’s pretty certain that rules out Brett’s entire body, in that case. If Devenford is anything like Beacon Hills, then not a lot stays hidden in the locker rooms.

But Brett didn’t say _not_ to…

He lowers himself to the floor of Brett’s car, angling himself as best he’s able in front of Brett, undoing the button and fly of his skinny jeans. Brett lifts his hips so Corey can tug them down his thighs, and Corey takes a moment to admire Brett’s cock resting against his stomach, long and thin like the rest of him, wet at the tip. He’s also uncut, which is a not-unpleasant surprise.

“Pretty like the rest of you,” he smiles, giving Brett an innocent bat of his lashes as he smears the wetness around with his thumb.

Eyelids fluttering, Brett exhales through his nose as Corey sucks his own thumb into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it to clean off the salty bitterness. He knows exactly what Brett’s thinking, watching him above with lidded eyes. Rather than taking him into his mouth like Brett is probably anticipating, Corey figures he can have a little fun first. Leaning in, he hovers for a moment before ducking down, sinking his teeth into Brett’s inner thigh.

Brett jerks, and moans a little, but he doesn’t pull away and he doesn’t tell Corey to stop. Sucking at the spot and circling it with his tongue, he repeats the process again a little higher up, smiling to himself as one of Brett’s hands finds its way into his hair, not gripping too hard but enough of a signal to tell Corey he’s into it.

It was a good day, the day he discovered how sensitive Lucas was there, and an even better one when Lucas returned the favour and he discovered he’s just as sensitive there himself. It’s only polite of him to spread the joy.

“Feels good.” Brett spreads his legs open a little more so Corey switches to his other thigh, creating some matching marks there too. “I’m going to be black and blue all over down there tomorrow, aren’t I?”

“Maaaybe,” he smiles. Brett just chuckles a little.

“Something told me you’d be a menace.” Since his face is basically in Brett’s balls anyway, he sucks one of them into his mouth, circling his tongue around it. “Fuck, just like that,” he groans, blunt nails slowly scratching against Corey’s scalp. When his other hand finds Corey’s nipple, flicking back and forth a few times before slightly twisting it, Corey lets himself groan around Brett before giving some attention to his other ball.

Even with the seats pushed forward, there’s still not exactly a lot of room and one of his legs is going a little numb. Between that and his nipple verging on oversensitive where Brett is still playing with it, he needs to move. Releasing Brett from his mouth, he tries to shift his feet beneath him while also trying to squirm away from Brett’s touch.

It doesn’t work; he wobbles.

Even as it’s happening, there’s nothing he can do to regain his balance before faceplanting directly into Brett’s crotch.

“Sorry,” he says, but Brett just laughs, hooking his fingers under Corey’s chin to direct his head up.

“Taking eager to a whole new level, huh?”

“Sorry,” he repeats, face heating slightly. “My foot’s going numb.”

“No worries. Come on,” he shifts around, tapping the space he’s made on the seat so Corey can sit up. “You’re kind of doing all the work here, anyway. How about I get my mouth on you?”

“I wouldn’t say no,” Corey says. Sitting up, he smiles into the kiss as Brett captures his lips with his own, letting Brett manhandle him into a position back against the seat. He slides down just slightly and Brett goes with him, first mouthing damply against his neck before circling his tongue a few times around the same nipple he was flicking. It takes a moment to register his jeans opening, but he definitely notices it when Brett slips a large, rough hand beneath his jeans and wraps it around his cock, giving it a few languid squeezes. Corey bucks into his hand and Brett smirks up at him through hooded eyes.

“Please,” he says, Brett slowly making his way further down, mouthing at his chest, licking right along the length of his scar, making Corey shiver beneath him.

“Please,” he repeats, groaning as Brett finally takes him into his mouth. It’s a struggle not to buck his hips again at the warmth around his cock, at the sight of Brett Talbot on his knees in front of him, bobbing his head up and down. Even a few weeks ago, he never could have anticipated something like this happening. But now that it is, he has absolutely zero complaints about it. It’s not a surprise that Brett knows exactly what he’s doing; knows exactly what he’s doing to _Corey_. Even on his knees, Brett is just so _big_ , his hands enveloping most of Corey’s torso, his presence huge in the car. Corey moans when Brett swallows him down almost to the base, Corey tightening his fingers in Brett’s hair when Brett pushes himself down that fraction further. As the sensitive head of Corey’s cock grazes the back of Brett’s throat, heat begins to pool in his lower belly again like a warning. Just as he’s about to relay that warning, Brett pulls off anyway, sucking in air even as he’s still mouthing at the shaft and blinking up at Corey. There’s just a hint of dampness that Corey can see in the corners of his eyes.

“You wanna cum like this?” Brett asks, voice a little raspy and a lot sinful. Corey really, really does. But there’s something else he thinks he wants a little bit more.

“Not this time,” he says, even though that implies there being a _next time_ and that might be a little too forward for someone like Brett. “Do you have lube?”

Brett grins up at him, rummaging around blindly beneath one of the front seats. “I like your thinking, Bryant,” he says, brandishing a small, half-empty bottle. “I bet you’ll feel great around me.”

Corey takes the bottle from him with a pointed look. “What makes you think _I_ don’t want to fuck _you?_ I bet you’d look great, all spread out on your back for me.”

From the way his ridiculous silver-blue eyes darken, it’s clear Brett is very, very into the idea. Corey’s expecting it, this time, when Brett surges up to kiss him again, pressing him hard back against the seat like he can’t get close enough.

“Tell me what you want,” Brett says, even as there’s practically more of his tongue in Corey’s mouth than his own. It takes a few more wet, messy kisses for Brett to pull back far enough for him to answer.

“I want you sitting on the seat,” he says, directing Brett up, and then into a more upright sitting position when he keeps leaning over to kiss Corey. Once he’s got Brett settled the way he wants him, Corey moves to straddle Brett’s thighs, his knees on the seat on either side of Brett. “And I want to sit in your lap, and jerk us both off.”

“Yes,” Brett says, flipping open the cap of the lube bottle even as it’s in Corey’s hand. Corey leans in with a smile, slowly kissing Brett as he drizzles some lube onto his own hand, letting it warm for a few moments before just as slowly wrapping his hand around Brett, slicking him up. He places the bottle down, still uncapped in case he needs it, slowly and methodically jerking Brett off. When he adds his own cock into the mix, Brett groans into his mouth, but Corey still doesn’t let him speed up the kiss. Between Brett’s cock and his own hand, it only takes a few strokes to get himself slicked up too, both of them sliding together in his hand. Then Corey starts bucking his hips, and Brett follows his lead, the two of them rutting together, Brett’s hands framing either side of Corey’s face as they kiss, panting against each other’s mouths when one of them needs to breathe.

“Don’t stop,” Brett says, even though Corey might not have much of a choice soon; he was already so wound up from Brett sucking him off, and there hasn’t exactly been much opportunity to cool down between then and now.

“Brett,” he says, practically _whines_ , hoping Brett understands.

“Come on, Corey. You can let go,” he murmurs. “I don’t mind if you make a mess.”

A few strokes later, he does, tipping his head back open-mouthed as he splatters Brett’s chest with his release. Although he’s still jerking his hips, he slackens his grip a little, intending to release himself and finish off Brett.

Brett seems to have other ideas.

He wraps a hand over the top of Corey’s, forcing him to keep jerking them both off even as Corey’s starting to become too sensitive.

“I’m nearly there,” Brett promises, sucking at his neck. “Just a bit longer, you’ve got this.”

“Be quick,” Corey grits out, gasping as he falls right over the edge into oversensitivity, reflexively trying to pull back, out of Brett’s grip.

Luckily Brett _is_ quick, releasing Corey’s hand and cock with a shudder to finish spurting his release onto his stomach, giving himself a few more pumps before letting himself go too. Corey doesn’t literally sigh in relief, but it’s a close thing. He does, however, slump down next to Brett on the seat, even though his body is a little hot and raw-feeling everywhere it’s in contact.

“Was that too much?” Brett asks.

Corey shakes his head, trying not to squirm at the way his back feels against the seat. “I said I’d tell you if I didn’t like anything.”

Brett gives him an amused, small smile. “You did.”

Corey returns the smile, taking a moment to look at Brett; _really_ look at him. Pink flush to his cheeks, hair a little damp, the mess on his stomach rising and falling with every breath.

Brett is always pretty, but Corey thinks he’s especially pretty when he’s all sweaty and fucked out like this.

A depraved part of him wants to smear their combined mess around Brett’s abs, to clean it up with his tongue after. Maybe just smear a finger through it, if nothing else. He wonders if Brett would let him.

“There are wipes under the seat,” Brett says. “I’d get them myself, but,” he motions to his stomach with a wry smile. Corey laughs, shoving down the depraved part of him, trying not to let his cock brush against his stomach as he leans down to rummage for the wipes. Once he finds them and wipes the lube off his hand, he figures it would only be courteous to clean Brett off, what with him being in a much bigger mess and not really able to move because of it. He gets Brett’s stomach and chest first, wiping away the majority of the mess with one wipe and finishing it off with a second. He’s more gentle with Brett’s cock, but Brett still jerks a little at the initial contact. Waving off Corey’s apology, he stays still until Corey is done then sits up a little, grabbing his shirt to pull over his head. He’ll definitely still need a shower when he gets home, but this is as good as things are going to get in a car.

While Corey’s cleaning himself off, out of the corner of his eye he notices Brett chugging one of the half-finished energy drink bottles until it’s done. Then he holds out a relatively full one for Corey.

“I’m alright, thanks,” he says. Once he’s got his own shirt back on, he slumps back against the seat with a sigh. “Was that good for you? Because it was pretty great for me.”

“Can confirm, Bryant is good on the dancefloor _and_ the car floor.”

Corey laughs, even though he really shouldn’t give Brett the credit for that. Suddenly he’s thinking about how surreal all of this is again; a few weeks ago he was still dating Lucas, and now he’s here.

“This whole thing is so surreal,” he says, before he’d even really decided to say it. “At the start of this month, I was still dating Lucas. Now I’m in the back of Brett Talbot’s car. Kind of crazy, right?” he laughs.

“Totally,” Brett says. Corey leans in for a kiss but Brett places a gentle hand on his chest. “You mind if I head off? We have a morning practice tomorrow, I kind of want to get an early night.”

Corey grimaces. “Saturday morning practices are the worst.” He checks to make sure he’s got everything, even though he’s wearing his shirt and his jeans, and those pretty much constitute as _everything_ , and gets out of the car. “Coast’s clear,” he says after a quick look around. Brett gets out and opens the driver’s side door. “See you next week?”

“Yeah, see you.” 

Brett gets in, and Corey watches as the car lights up before he drives off, starting on the short walk back to the club. The night is young, he can go inside and dance some more. Whether it’s by himself or if someone joins him, he doesn’t mind.

Normally he’s a little paranoid after doing something like that, feeling like everyone around him knows what he was doing. This time though, he almost _wants_ everyone to know what he was doing.

The bouncer checks the stamp on the back of his hand, a little smudged with sweat but acceptable enough to get him back inside. Heading straight for the bar, he downs a plastic cup of water before surveying the rest of the club, smiling at all the people, at all the possibilities, he sees.

He could stay here and dance all night.

***

It’s been a good week, and nobody is more surprised about it than Corey himself. Even his parents didn’t keep him down for long, his mom screaming about a pair of missing earrings and a bracelet until his dad cornered her, rattling off something quick and hushed until they both fell into an awkward silence.

Following Brett’s advice, he decided to brave the cafeteria and hang out with the lacrosse team. For the most part nobody acted like anything was out of the ordinary or unusual about it, and - on the surface, at least - he’s being welcomed into the social circle as well as the team circle with open arms.

Liam seemed a little funny with him once or twice, nothing he would be comfortable calling out or trying to put a name to, though. He’s still trying to work out if something is actually wrong or if it’s only in his head. He doesn’t think he’s done anything to upset Liam, except maybe not hanging out with the team outside practices and games until now. Of course, the catch-22 of it is he could be entirely oblivious to the thing he’s done, and therefore have no idea how to fix it. Maybe he’ll try talking to Liam if he’s at Sinema tonight.

He has to tamp down on a smile when he spots Brett’s car near the club. More than one awkward boner needed to be adjusted this week, his mind wandering to the events of what happened in that car; what other things might still happen in it.

For some reason, the entry fee feels like more of a loss than usual; maybe he’ll stick to water, tonight. Still, the music is loud and the club is busy. If last week is anything to go by, it’s bound to be a good night.

Or it _will_ be, as soon as he finds Brett; he’s not by the bar, he’s not on the dancefloor, he’s not sitting in any of the booths, he’s not lurking in any of the dark corners he pointed out last week.

After he checks the toilets, Corey spots Liam getting some drinks at the bar. Figuring it’ll be easier than having Garrett and Mason with him too, he jumps at the chance to speak to Liam alone.

“Liam, hey,” he says, touching his upper arm in case Liam didn’t hear him over the music. “Have you seen Brett? I can’t find him.”

Liam glances at him. “Where have you tried?”

Corey’s sure he isn’t imagining it anymore; there’s definitely something off about the way Liam is looking at him. Even so, he lists off the places he’s checked.

“How about outside?”

“He wasn’t out there when I came in. I’m probably just being dumb, I don’t know. Could you maybe, uh, call him or text him or something? I don’t actually have his-”

“Try outside again. Maybe his car.” Liam gathers up his drinks, and when he looks up again there’s no disputing the fact he’s _sneering_ at Corey. “I hear you’re pretty familiar with it.”

Corey gapes after him as he carefully makes his way over to the table where Garrett and Mason are sitting. What the hell was that?

Okay, so Brett told Liam they hooked up. Or maybe someone else who was here last week told him. It’s not a big deal, people usually know what’s up when someone is with Brett Talbot at Sinema.

But that still leaves the question of what’s up with Liam. Is he jealous, or something? That’s the first thing which comes to mind, but Liam is already in a relationship and Brett said they turned him down. It wouldn’t make any _sense_ for him to be jealous.

Still, it doesn’t seem like Brett’s inside anywhere that’s publicly accessible. Checking around outside maybe isn’t the worst idea.

He heads back to the entrance, passing by the bouncer and the smoking crowd, quickly looking over his shoulder to scan their faces. Brett isn’t with them and as far as Corey knows he doesn’t smoke. It was worth checking anyway though.

When he reaches Brett’s car, he physically feels himself falter and stop walking.

The windows are steamed up.

A few possibilities flash through his mind, one of which being the idea Brett might just be out here waiting for him. That’s ridiculous though, there’s only one answer that makes sense; it just doesn’t make much sense.

Before he can think better of it, he knocks on the window.

There’s some fumbling inside and two hushed, frantic voices whispering at each other. A couple of seconds later the back door opens, revealing a remarkably put-together Brett, as well as a girl from Corey’s chemistry class. Both of them sag in relief. Corey can’t stop staring at them.

“Brett. Can we, um. Can we talk?”

“Kind of busy right now, Corey,” he says, smirking at the girl. She laughs, adjusting her skirt a little. Corey blocks the door when Brett tries to pull it shut.

“I want to talk now.”

Brett levels him with a stare almost as hostile as Liam’s, but Corey refuses to look away or cow down. “Fine,” Brett sighs, dragging out the word. “Next time, yeah?” he says to the girl, who smiles at Brett and doesn’t look at Corey as she gets out of the far door. Corey moves out of the way so Brett can get out of his car too, standing to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest after he’s locked it.

“What’s so important?”

“I don’t understand what’s happening. I had a great time last week, and I thought you did too. But now you’re hooking up with someone else with no explanation?”

“Christ, Corey,” Brett shakes his head. “I’m not your boyfriend.”

“I know that! But I thought…”

“You thought what? We danced, we fucked, you had your rebound and ticked me off your list. That’s it. Now, if you don’t mind.”

Brett pushes off his car and starts walking back towards Sinema; Corey reflexively grabs his forearm.

“I _do_ mind, actually,” Corey says, letting go of Brett. He’s verging on whiny, petulant, but this situation still makes zero sense. “If you don’t want to talk or dance or anything anymore, that’s fine. But don’t try and blame it on some… some _bullshit_ excuse about rebounds or me having a _list_.”

“Corey-” Brett tries.

“No. _You’re_ the one who spoke to _me. You’re_ the one who asked _me_ to dance. _You’re_ the one who took it further. Yeah, I wanted all of it, but you don’t get to be a dick because I gave you what you wanted from me, what you want from everyone else.”

The way his chest is heaving, it’s like he’s just coming off the field after a lacrosse practice. Suddenly he’s all too aware they’re still in the middle of the street. Even when he shouts though, his voice doesn’t get too loud; hopefully he hasn’t made much of a scene.

For all his hostile looks and condescending comments, Brett suddenly seems almost deflated. It’s enough to level out Corey’s own temper, for something mildly uncomfortable to start forming in his chest.

“ _Isn’t_ that what you want from people?” he asks tentatively.  
”I don’t know,” Brett says with a half-shrug. For the first time Corey can remember, despite his frame, he looks small. “Nobody’s ever asked.”

The something in his chest solidifies; all the people he’s seen Brett with in the time he’s been going to Sinema, all the people that have no doubt come before, or in between, and not a single one of them has asked Brett what he wants? And neither did Corey, not really. God, he’s an asshole.

The worst part is, he didn’t even realise it. No wonder Liam is being so weird with him--

Liam used to go to Devenford Prep. Brett and Liam are friends.

Brett _confided in_ Liam.

“I hurt you,” Corey says. It’s not a question. Not anymore.

Brett sighs; it’s like Corey’s statement has taken something from him. “Honestly? I don’t know why it got to me. All we really did was chat the other week. You’re the first person in forever who didn’t _want_ anything from me, not even my number. It was so refreshing,” he laughs.

“And then I did want something from you.”

“Don’t feel bad. You’re right, I wanted something from you too and I got it. I have a habit of getting what I want,” he smiles, but Corey’s not sure he can return it. Now that he’s seen glimpses of the vulnerability beneath, Brett’s bravado is obvious. How practiced is he in wearing this mask, for nobody to have suspected he’s wearing it at all?

Well, nobody except Liam. Corey’s going to need to apologise to him too, after this.

“It was that comment I made before you left.” Again, it’s not a question, not anymore.

“I know you didn’t mean it the way I took it.”

“But I still said it. I still _othered_ you.”

This whole time, Corey’s been objectifying Brett in his head, thinking of him as something other than the kid he is, same as Corey and Liam and everyone else. And he was _proud_ of it; proud for people to see him dancing with Brett, making out with him, leaving the club with him. Brett deserves so, so much better.

He’s not a prideful person at the best of times, but Corey knows he’s never been less proud of himself than he is right now.

Looking down, he notices Brett has his thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets, his fingers curled in against his thighs. He brushes his own hand against Brett’s closest one, searching Brett’s eyes with a silent question. When he doesn’t pull away, Corey takes Brett’s hand in both of his own.

“Brett? There’s one more thing I’d like from you, if that’s still an option.”

There’s no hiding the wariness that flashes across Brett’s face. “…Okay?”

“I’d like to hang out with you. To actually get to know you.” He lightly squeezes Brett’s hand in his own. “Maybe even go somewhere other than Sinema, if you wanted to.”

“You mean like a date?” Brett’s smile is small, tentative; _hopeful._

“Yeah,” Corey smiles, as wide and reassuring as he can make it. “Like a date.”


End file.
